


His First Bow

by TheTalentedMrHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Established Relationship, Flowers, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Misunderstandings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, balletlock, rugbyjohn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalentedMrHolmes/pseuds/TheTalentedMrHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's just finished his first professional performance, but his high is sobered by his suspiciously absent boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His First Bow

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [Sherholmies](http://221bee.co.vu/), I hope you like it!  
> Thank you to my wonderful Emmy for the helps <3

Sherlock couldn't help but beam smugly as he took his final bow on stage. His eyes were shining brightly, lit up by the lights as he cast his gaze to the audience that had watched his very first professional show.

He'd been dancing for years, naturally, but had finally gotten a position he'd been working for what felt like an eternity towards. For once in his life he felt accomplished. It was strange, but the cheers and the flowers didn't feel mocking and he liked it. So he smiled wide, soaked it up, and glanced around the audience for his boyfriend.

John had promised he would go to his first show, but Sherlock couldn't see him anywhere. Surely his boyfriend was supposed to do these things and support him? At least that was what John had said before buying tickets.

But had he even bought a ticket?

He said he would.

Had Sherlock been so swept up in elation that he didn't notice the signs that John wasn't even going to go? He felt like a fool, slapped in the face with his own idiocy and presumptions. This was what Mycroft had been talking about all those times.

His cheeks heated and he smiled again to the audience, though this time it felt much more like a grimace marring his features.

Bitter disappointment welled up in him as he was handed the flowers collected from the stage and made his way back to the dressing room, doubts multiplying with every step. Had John strung him along like that before? Maybe he did it just to make him happy, to keep him quiet, but the deceit far outweighed the joy he'd been feeling now he knew John wasn’t there.

He was ready for a long sulk as he opened his room, but bumped into someone who was waiting for him there. Petals scattered to the floor and Sherlock was surprised to see John in the middle of his dressing room.

"John-" he flushed guiltily, more than relieved to see him there. He tried to catch up and on observation John was blushing (deduction: embarrassed) and Sherlock looked down to the flowers in the other boy’s hands (deduction: N/A) with confusion lacing between his brows.

He set aside the bundle in his arms and took John's smaller, but much more beautiful and fragrant bouquet. "John I-"

"-No, no. Just let me speak a moment. I know that they're not really your thing, and that by the looks of it you already have enough to last you a few months, assuming they don't die of course. Not that I think you’d be terrible at taking care of flowers, you’re surprisingly good at that sort of thing. I mean-"

Sherlock silenced him with a gentle kiss. He barely brushed his lips to John's but the reaction was electric. His lashes fluttered and he opened his mouth to apologise properly, before John suddenly recovered from his shock and pressed back with a firm kiss of his own.

Sherlock blindly put down John's flowers and moved closer, kissing him deeply as John cupped his face with both his hands. He blushed when they pulled away, biting his lip.

"I thought you weren't going to come," he confessed, hoping that his cheeks weren't too red. John's fingers stroked over his cheekbones and he leaned into the touch, any sadness completely erased from his mind now.

"Of course I was going to come." John said softly, moving to wrap his arms around Sherlock's waist. "What made you think I wouldn't?"

"I didn't see you, I thought- I thought you didn't like ballet anyway," he said, vaguely fluttering a hand in the direction of John's baggy rugby top. He had far too many, in Sherlock's opinion, but he looked good in them so equally he didn't have enough.

"I like you, don't I? And I might not have felt one way or the other about ballet before, but after seeing you tonight? In those tights?" John said, moving closer until Sherlock bumped up against the dressing table. "Sherlock I'll come to every show if you ask me to. It would be my pleasure."

"Well, perhaps not every show," Sherlock stuttered, gasping as John pressed their bodies intimately close together. His eyes were wide and he couldn't help but roll his hips up to meet John's. "I need to change." He added, glancing at the clock.

“Mm, don’t want to miss your fans.” He teased proudly. He started to pull away before a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Help me," Sherlock said, guiding John's hand to his waist again, smiling as John's understanding grew.

John didn't question it, only slipped his hand up Sherlock's sides to help him out of his clothes. He held his breath as the lean body was slowly revealed, lust blooming in him like a wild fire. He traced his hands over Sherlock's chest and then down muscular thighs to help him step out of the tights.

Kneeling there between Sherlock's legs, he couldn't help but give into impulse and give Sherlock's half hard cock a long stroke.

"John," he gasped, flinching from the shock of pleasure, knees weak.

"It's alright," John murmured, standing again now Sherlock was undressed. He kept his hand around Sherlock's member, smiling at his expression. "You know how amazing you looked tonight, don't you? As soon as I saw you I thought to myself how lucky I was."

The dresser behind Sherlock banged against the wall as he jerked, shocked by the amount of pleasure he got from John’s warm hand and his warmer words.

“Please, John.” He whispered, his eyes begging him for more. He shuddered and his eyes fluttered shut as John squeezed him and started to stroke him.

“You’re so sexy, Sherlock. I can’t believe you,” John purred low into the boy’s ear, holding him close as he pumped his hand up and down Sherlock’s slender cock. Sherlock whimpered helplessly, cheeks hot. “That’s right, let yourself go.”

“John!” Sherlock gasped, squeezing at the boy’s shoulders before he was hoisted up onto the dressing table. He immediately locked his legs around John, pulling him close. He panted into the side of his throat, clinging onto John as though he might stop breathing if he let go. “John, oh, oh!”

“God, you’re really worked up, aren’t you? Did you like all those people cheering? I was so proud of you, love. You were amazing.” He kissed down Sherlock’s throat, holding him tight as he started to stroke his boyfriend faster, focusing on the dusky pink tip.

Sherlock bit his lip and whined. “Wanted to see you so much, so much.” He squeezed his fingers down hard into John’s shoulders, making marks under the rugby top. He gasped into the boy’s neck, rocking helplessly and making the table bang into the wall over and over.

“Come for me, Sherlock. I’ve got you.”

Like a switch, Sherlock threw his head back and came on command with a loud moan. “Fuck!” He cried, his come staining his own chest as John milked him dry. He slumped back against the wall when he finished, panting and boneless.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you do that,” John said, grabbing Sherlock’s jaw gently for a deep, sloppy kiss.

“Mmm.” He trailed his lips down Sherlock’s body, sucking off the drops of come noisily. He kissed Sherlock to softness, nuzzling him fondly. He was hard, but he could wait; pleasuring Sherlock had been all he could think about during the performance. It was more relieving to do what he just did than to come himself.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, his voice rumbling and husky as he hopped shakily off of the table. He cleared his throat, running his hand through his messy curls shyly.

“My pleasure,” John replied. He kissed him affectionately, handing him the soft jogging bottoms that he was to change into. He looked around the room for a moment. “It’s cold out, do you have something else?”

Sherlock shook his head mutely, pulling on his top afterwards.

He watched curiously in the reflection as John stripped off his rugby top, leaving only his vest on underneath, and then his vision was blurred by John helping him into it.

It was far too big for him, but hung low over his frame so that he would be completely enveloped. It was warm and smelled strongly of John.

"Thank you," he murmured, hugging himself before John wrapped his arms around him. He pressed his face into his throat, nuzzling there with so much happiness bursting from him. He pulled back and picked up John's flowers, admiring them happily. "I like them." He finally concluded, making John laugh in relief.

“Thank god for that.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Sherlock laughed, his eyes crinkling with joy at the corners. “Come on, I want to make it up to you - the sooner the better.”

“Horny bastard,” John said, grinning as he held open the door for Sherlock. “I love you.”  
  
“And you, John.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


End file.
